


Behind closed doors

by Blackprose



Series: A home that never was [2]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Codependency, Drug Withdrawal, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-03-16 08:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13632180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackprose/pseuds/Blackprose
Summary: This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just a happy side effect of close proximity and time spent together. In hindsight, they both should've known that they need each other.The direct continuation of Yoosung's Bad End 3 fic entitled Edge of a Blade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! If you haven't read the first title of the series, I recommend you do. I will try to explain things as they come up for newcomers.
> 
> My co-author, Ely, is not able to write this title anymore, but they are editing every chapter. Thanks for sticking with the story!

Light. Aching muscles. The ground is cold, but the sun is warm on his face. He licks his lips. They taste different. The lingering taste in his mouth is different than just morning breath. It takes Saeran some time before he remembers a body in his lap,  another set of lips on his. He frowns, squeezes his eyes shut to keep out the light, and rubs his face into the… grass? It’s wet. He shivers, body chilled from sleeping outside overnight. They need to stop doing that. If either of them get sick, it’s a liability.

Saeran scoots towards the heat source beside him, molding his body to the warmth. He peeks an eye open, catches sight of Yoosung’s blonde hair, mussed up from sleeping outside, and the emotions he experienced last night hit him like a tidal wave, pressing him hard into the ground. 

Beyond blonde hair, there’s pale skin and bruises; purple, a fading green, and a stark red from Saeran’s bites; a whole array of colours that remind him of a garden he used to tend. His muscles feel tight and his stomach hurts. The back of his throat feels coated slick with saliva and he’s fairly sure he’s going to retch, but his body won’t let him move. He bites his lips and lets out a low half-sob, the kind that accidentally slips out. 

Saeran closes his eyes, focuses on the tune of the birds in the trees above him. Wings flutter, tree branches rattle and shake, a few leaves drop on the ground near Saeran, so he reaches out for them, hoping he can convince himself that gravity hasn’t abandoned him. If he touches the ground, the grass, this green leaf, he can believe that the world isn’t spinning out of his control.

It almost works, except for one invasive thought: hasn’t everything already slipped through his grasp?

***

Yoosung finds him behind a tree on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach. He swallows acid and bile and it’s like mucus sliding down his throat. When it hits the pit of his stomach, he retches some more, burping and heaving and entirely sure he’s going to dump the contents of his body, organs and all, onto the grass. 

At least he’ll be nourishing the earth. At least he’ll be good for something.

Saeran doesn’t even know he’s been discovered until an arm wraps around his waist and helps him to his feet. They’re both shaky, Yoosung with his foot wounds and Saeran with his perpetual weakness. He can’t even conjure up a sentence as they slowly make their way into the dilapidated house, both of them leaning on each other for support. It feels less pathetic when he isn’t the only one unable to hold himself upright. 

Or perhaps Yoosung is faking, the scratchy voice at the back of his mind whispers, perhaps he’s waiting for... 

***

"Are you sure? What if you hurt yourself?"

Saeran pulls his shirt over his head, throws it down onto the floor, and hoists himself onto his knees using the ledge of the tub. His leather jacket already lays discarded by his knees. 

"I've been through worse. I'll just sit in there? Does that make you feel better?"

It clearly doesn’t, because Yoosung sighs heavily, still standing and leaning part of his body weight on the sink. 

"Do you... do you know what's wrong?" He asks in a small voice. There’s a weak part of his heart that leaps at the smallest sentiment. It’s possible Yoosung cares, isn’t it? Saeran doesn’t have the fortitude to battle with himself mentally, to allow the personas he’s built over the years to argue for dominance in his head, so he just slumps by the side of the tub. 

"Ummm... I don’t know. Uh, I was looking at you, and... I... Hmm. I noticed your... bruises... and it made me feel like I was going to puke."

As if to cover up the terrible truth, Yoosung raises a hand to his throat. He gulps, and Saeran doesn’t miss the grimace when he does. The collar is too tight; Saeran secured it that way on purpose, but now he can’t even stand looking at it. 

When Saeran unbuttons the top of his leather pants, Yoosung casually averts his gaze. The quick movement catches Saeran’s eye. It’s difficult to lower his guard when he’s used to those with ill intent and quick hands. Thankfully, Yoosung doesn’t touch him.

"Do… do you need any help?" 

"Uh," Saeran shimmies out of his pants and adds them to the pile of his clothing. He isn’t ashamed of being naked. Privacy was almost nonexistent where he grew up, but he is ashamed of his scars, of his thinness, of his protruding hip bones. There’s no way anyone would want to touch him. He isn’t soft. Everything about him is hard edges and lines and sharp teeth, ready to snap, like a crocodile waiting for a bird to land in its open jaws. 

He climbs over the edge of the tub in a completely undignified way and lays down on the cold porcelain. Oh no, he forgot to turn on the water...

“Can you turn on the water?” Saeran asks, eyes closed, voice pitifully whiny. 

The first splash of water over his body is freezing, but it gives him the clarity he’s been seeking. He flinches, jolted to alertness, and watches Yoosung lean over him, fiddling with the handles in the shower.

"Is that okay?"

When they make eye contact, it’s weirdly electrical. It kickstarts Saeran’s heart so it pumps in tandem with the patter of water on his skin. At least Yoosung has the decency to look away before Saeran is forced to, shame hot on his face like a brand.

“I'll be fine. I don't feel as sick,” Saeran lies. The water transitions from mild to tepid. Saeran shuts his eyes.

"Are... are you sure?" A pause, a small ruffle of clothing. "I can stay until you're done..."

“Do you do this to everyone? Watch them shower?" A pitiful delivery for a pitiful joke. 

"N-no! Of course I don't! I'm not watching! Just... I want to make sure you're okay." Yoosung pauses as he steps over to the doorframe, or at least, that’s where Saeran imagines he is based on the footsteps he’s taken; three in total. There’s a long enough pause that Saeran believes he’s alone. He flinches when Yoosung speaks again.

"I can go make food if you're sure you're okay."

"I'm sure I'm okay." 

***

Eventually, the water pattering on Saeran's stomach and ribs is starting to feel less comforting and more overstimulating. He turns over onto his side and hugs his shoulders as best he can in the tub.

Finally alone, he tries to analyze what he's feeling for Yoosung. He told him last night that he liked him, and while that was true... it still felt foreign, and part of him screamed that it was wrong. He wished things were as simple as they used to be: when he had a job to complete and there existed a clear pathway he had to follow. Emotions tangled things. His Saviour always told him she would handle the unnecessary parts of him, the parts that tried to act independently. He’d never experienced a time when he didn’t depend on someone else - his mother, his brother, his saviour. He’d be hard pressed to believe independent choices even existed.

At least he had the decency to not subscribe to the farce everyone on the outside was living in. It was easier - no, it was preferable to have someone tell him what to do. However now, without that guidance, he’s feels like a program working on with outdated data. Useless.

He can't even bring himself to hate Yoosung more than he hates himself.

Saeran eventually turns off the water and slumps back into the tub, cold droplets pooling on his skin and sending a shiver through him. The acid that has taken up residence in his stomach, a physical gathering place for his negative thoughts, has calmed. If Yoosung asks if he's okay, at least this time Saeran wouldn't have to lie.

He sits up in the tub and pushes his soaked hair away from his face. Just tilting his head back hurts, the beginnings of a headache dragging its talons through his brain. It worsens with each thump of his heart, making his head feel like a balloon swollen with blood. He wonders if it's from when Yoosung slammed him against the wall last night. He gingerly slides his hand into his soaked hair and hisses at the pressure applied from his fingers. Yep, there's a bump. 

What a strong pet. Saeran wishes Yoosung would venture to hurt him more often. It’s not like it isn’t deserved, and… it makes Saeran feel validated. Yoosung doesn’t act like an algorithm. If x happens, then the outcome should be y, but Yoosung… he’s acting on unknown parameters, and it makes Saeran feel uneasy.

No one should reward Saeran’s behaviour with kisses. No, he should be punished with more injuries.

***

Yoosung must have heard the shower turn off, because he pokes his blonde head in shortly after, offering Saeran a fresh towel from underneath the sink and help heading to the bedroom. 

“Don't you understand that I'm dangerous?" Saeran says softly.

He suspects his words would have more impact if he wasn't so pathetic. Yoosung ignores the words and casually slips an arm around Saeran’s bare waist. His fingers hover over Saeran’s hip bones. All Saeran can think about is how disgusting he must look; skin sunken, eyes hollow, hair plastered to his forehead, body a myriad of scars and bruises and marks of ownership. Hell, Yoosung isn’t even making eye contact.

"Do you want to put your clothes on first?" Yoosung mumbles.

“Does it matter?”

Time passes as Yoosung ponders this question. 

"I guess not,” Yoosung concedes. 

He slides his hand fully around Saeran's waist, readjusting his grip to truly hold onto him. Saeran ignores how the touch burns his skin. He can’t even tell if he wants to soak in the feeling or rip Yoosung’s fingers off him. 

***

"Did you cook?"

Saeran’s slipped under the blankets, clothing forgotten on the bathroom floor. The sheets are musty, but feel silken on his skin. If he crooks the pillow under his head and arm just right, he can pretend it’s a person’s lap he’s lying his head on.

Saeran’s almost tempted to ask Yoosung to sit here. His grip tightens on the pillow in response, nails digging into plush and cotton. It’s more pliable than his skin; it hurts less than his skin, but it doesn’t bleed, so it isn’t nearly as satisfying.

Yoosung returns with what looks like fried bread. It’s crispy on the outside and tastes like garlic. He had no idea there were even spices in the cabinets, but leave it to Yoosung to find  whatever he can in there. 

There probably isn’t any food left. Saeran didn’t need Yoosung telling him to know it’s true. He doesn’t usually share with his captives, and… this place wasn’t designed as a long term escape. People kept in safe houses weren’t supposed to be here for longer than a few days, at most. It’s the decoy location in case they’re found out. It keeps the rest of the believers safe from discovery. 

Everyone who recruits for Mint Eye prepares for failure. Saeran just didn’t know he’d experience it so soon. 

“I... I don't think we're going to be able to live off the food that's left much longer," Yoosung admits.

"Do you have any money?"

"I... uh... do you have my clothes I had when I first came here? I might have some in the pockets..." 

“They’re soaked in blood.”

“Oh.”

"Can you bring me my laptop?"

A pause, then a hefty sigh like Saeran’s just been caught playing video games when he should’ve been asleep.

"I... can, yeah. But you shouldn't work if you feel like this."

"I'm fine," Saeran insists through a mouthful of toast. He smothers the urge to spit it out and swallows anyway. His stomach is unhappy with that decision. Thank God it’s only toast and not something extravagant or decadent. Or microwaveable like those beans or that pasta from previous nights.

"What will you do on it?"

“You know."

"I..." Yoosung gulps. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, but... I don't want you to strain yourself. I'll... I'll go get it," he finishes with a mumble and heads out to get it.

Saeran sets the food aside and slumps down into the pillow while he waits for Yoosung to return. Headache or not, stomach pains or not, he has work to complete.

When Yoosung returns clutching the laptop in his hands, he stands two strides away from the edge of the bed as if space and proximity would keep Saeran from his duty. 

"I really think you should just rest.”

***

When Saeran was at Mint Eye, he would work for hours without pause. There were occasional days that he went without sleeping to fulfill the mission. There was so much work and it was only made more difficult by the fact that he had to learn via trial and error, beginning with small sites nobody cared about and moving onto bigger hits until he could finally test his skills on the RFA…

There was a time limit on his success, and it was only hindered by his ability to learn. He wasn’t as smart as his brother. He didn’t understand things as quickly. It didn’t help that the elixirs would make it hard to think, stuffed his brain full of marshmallows and sand, where every coherent thought had to squeeze through the gaps. 

"Saeran, you're shaking. Please... let me help you."

Saeran hadn’t even realized he had stopped moving his fingers until he feels Yoosung’s hand on his, a warm presence to his cold existence. It burns like an ice cube touching the sun directly. Saeran retracts his hand violently.

He can’t let the sun touch him. His Saviour warned him.

"Get out!" Saeran’s voice begins small, but gains pitch every time he repeats himself until he’s at a full-blown shout. Until his voice becomes booming and strong and embodying everything he currently isn't.

"I can't leave you when you're like this."

"Drop the act!" Saeran sneers. "Get out!"

Yoosung hesitates. 

"Do you want some water? Or... or something in case you throw up? A... a bowl?" 

An expert at not giving up, Yoosung insists on taking care of him. Saeran shivers. He realizes that the blanket has fallen off his chest sometime during his work, so he grabs it and covers himself to his shoulders. It doesn't go unnoticed by him that Yoosung's eyes lingered on his bare chest too long. Saeran feels like an animal on display, waiting to be dissected.

"You better not have done anything disgusting when I was in the shower.”

"Disgusting?"

"Yes, I've seen your browser history, remember? I know you're disgusting." Saeran's eyes flick over to Yoosung's momentarily, gaze hardened. If he was destined to be cold, he should embrace it. "Just get the fuck out."

Yoosung doesn’t fight it. As he stands in the entranceway to the bedroom, he takes one last look at Saeran, a look that’s long and lingering and probably filled with plenty of emotions and feel-good sentiments. It’s enough to make Saeran want to puke from the sheer fact that he knows he’s trash who doesn’t deserve to hear them.  

"Tell me if you need anything?" Yoosung offers. It’s a wonderful alternative to what Saeran imagines he wants to say.

"I don't need anything from you," Saeran responds. He's trying to type, but he's shaking so much that each word he types he has to delete and type over more than twice. It's unbelievably frustrating.

***

Saeran doesn't know why he's feeling so angry. If he’s learned anything during his time alive, it’s that he has an endless supply of anger boiling within him. It’s sustained him this long, and likely fuels him more than the Saviour’s promises. A more optimistic side of him believes in her ideals, but the ever present skeptic whispers that everything is untrue and everyone is a liar and the only thing holding him here is the promise of strength and revenge.

When he finally focuses on the screen in front of him, he notices that Luciel has made much less progress than he thought, and a quick check to the chatroom tells Saeran that it's because Luciel has been silent for the past twelve hours. Likely asleep, or so they hope. Saeran hopes that, too, because the alternative is that he’s on his way to their location, and that’s much, much worse. 

If he had chosen any other day to neglect his code, it probably would've already been cracked.

Saeran doesn't even need to do much on his laptop with his code being virtually untouched, so he just scrolls through the chatroom, reading whatever idle talk is keeping them busy. Yoosung's name appears once or twice, but it's nothing important, just comments on how they hope he's safe. 

***

"I have some money," Yoosung says quietly, holding up his wallet for Saeran to see.

Saeran hears Yoosung speak, but doesn't bother responding. Right now, he doesn't have the capacity to engage in conversation and try to regulate his shaking.

Silences between them hang with memories of the previous night. It’s embarrassing to remember their kiss and his weakness. He had almost forgotten until he saw Yoosung again, standing there trying to engage in a conversation with those delicious pink lips of his. 

"Okay... um... okay..." Yoosung says awkwardly and tosses the wallet on the bed. 

If Yoosung hadn’t rushed out so quickly, Saeran might’ve broken enough to ask him to lay with him. Thank God that didn’t happen. 

***

Saeran shuts the laptop and throws it on the plush beside him. Sitting on his knees, he reaches for the wallet. There isn't a lot of money, but it's enough to buy some food and maybe some gas for the car. He rifles through the card holders. Credit cards or anything traceable aren’t an option, but he digs around anyway, rooting through the contents of Yoosung’s wallet. 

What should it matter? Saeran owns him.

That’s when he notices the photos slotted into the picture holder in the wallet: Yoosung and his Saviour smiling together. It had to be pre-Mint Eye, because her smile isn’t hollow, and his hair is brown.The sun is shining above them, and there’s a puppy in the photo. Saeran’s never met that dog. She’s never talked about having a pet, either. It almost makes Saeran jealous that she once gave her affections to anyone other than Saeran. Didn’t she tell him he was the strongest believer? Didn’t she call him useful and good? Why does she look happier in this photo than when she looked at him?

Abandoning his search for money, Saeran slides the photo of the Saviour and her smile out of the wallet and crumples it in between his fingers.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW in this chapter. Just a warning but you guys read the tags, you knew what you were getting into (I hope) LOL

This entire place feels grimy. Yoosung hates that. He hates that it feels like he hasn’t had a proper shower, since there’s no soap. He hates that there’s no toothbrush for him to brush his teeth. But what he hates the most is that it’s almost become normal being here, like his old life is a checkpoint in a video game that he’s already passed.

He’s thankful there are plenty of towels. It’s as if whoever abandoned this house came back every so often to change the towels specifically, since they are soft and the folded insides smell faintly like lilacs, the same detergent he used back home.It makes him feel like things aren’t as distorted as they are, albeit only momentarily.

He turns off the sink faucet and flicks his hands dry. He’d try rubbing them on the pants he’s wearing, but they’re leather. The last time he did that it felt like the material stuck to his skin. He looks over at the shower, hooking his thumb into his pants to pull them away from his stomach. They’re too tight. Whatever size Saeran wears is too small for Yoosung, and they leave irritable red puckers across his belly and hips. 

Maybe he should take a shower. Saeran made it clear he doesn’t want him in the bedroom right now anyway. A shower won’t get him as clean as he wants to be, but it’ll warm him up.

But... what if Saeran needs him? 

Yoosung tiptoes down the hallway. He wants to peek his head into the bedroom, but that comes with the likely chance of being caught. So instead, he closes his eyes and listens. Didn’t Seven tell him once that it enhances his other senses? It’s useful for agent missions or something… 

Well, now he gets to try it out.

Yoosung’s hearing isn’t as good as a secret agent’s, but he doesn’t hear anything worrisome, so he heads back to the bathroom and peels those insufferably tight pants off his legs and thighs. He adds the pants to the pile of clothing Saeran left on the floor earlier. It’s not like it matters since they’re all Saeran’s clothes anyway.

He already discovered that his own clothes, the ones he was wearing when he was taken here, are dried stiff with blood. It was when he went looking for his wallet earlier. Saeran had warned him, but it didn’t prepare him for the sight or the feeling, stiff and gristly. If he touched the grossest parts too long, it left red residue on his skin...

It isn’t important.

Yoosung pulls off the shirt he's wearing and looks down at his chest. There are some scratches across it from where Saeran had run the knife, but they're not too deep. Just surface cuts, like he knew what he was doing, like he’d done this before and Yoosung wasn’t the first…

Saeran had said that, hadn’t he? This is all routine. This is all normal. There’s no hope of escape. The last words  were never said out loud, but they manifested in the air like ghostly whispers during their interactions. 

Yoosung shakes his head. No, they’re just scratches. They'll fade, too, eventually. He drops the shirt.

***

Eyes closed, Yoosung scrubs his scalp with his fingers as water courses through his hair and down his back. Warm water on his skin feels nice, feels normal. If he closes his eyes, the only thing different about this shower compared to the one in his dorm is the absence of his scented soaps and shampoos.

Yoosung had initially decided to be quick, in case Saeran needed him (in case he got in trouble for showering without permission, a scratchy voice in his head whispers) but now he doesn't want to get out. The water is comforting. It's constant. He wishes Saeran were constant. Yoosung feels like he might be making progress. Maybe? It’s hard to tell and easy to doubt, especially with a face like Saeran’s that exudes emotion so strongly but can be, simultaneously, frustratingly unreadable. He looks like he carries a lot of pain, and he isn’t used to expressing that... and he very clearly is not used to normal reactions to expressing pain. It’s as if Saeran expects Yoosung to beat him whenever he cries.

How did he grow up if that was what he came to expect?

Yoosung shouldn’t be sympathizing with his kidnapper. There’s the rational, high school class president self that understands that. It’s too late now, though. They’ve kissed. And what’s worse is Yoosung wants to do it again. He’s never kissed anyone before, but the way Saeran’s lips felt, the way Yoosung’s mind went completely blank as he sunk into the feeling, the way nothing else mattered in the world besides their lips and tongues… god.  Maybe class president Yoosung Kim doesn’t exist anymore. High school was two years ago, after all.

Maybe it’s fucked up. No, not maybe, it’s definitely fucked up, but Yoosung wants to kiss him again. 

Somewhere in the haze of remembering the kiss, his brain remembers that Saeran is naked. Yoosung remembers how chilly Saeran’s skin felt on his palm, and how solid his hips are. As they were walking together to the bedroom, Yoosung thought stupid thoughts like how he could warm him up with his body heat, how it’s typical in dramas on TV for couples to cuddle naked for warmth under the right circumstances. Wasn’t this the right circumstance? Saeran was freezing. 

Despite having made sure not to look at Saeran earlier, he can't help but wonder why Saeran doesn’t care about showing his body off. He can’t help but think about how pale his skin is. There are scars there, sure, but there are also freckles. Yoosung wants to get close enough to see all of them. He wants to get close enough to… kiss them… maybe...?

Gah!

He can't think about that. Saeran's just in the other room, and he's unwell! Yoosung tries to push the kiss out of his head, but he can’t stop the scenes replaying in his mind; the suggestion Saeran had made about a 'next time' last night and the way his green eyes seemed endless in the moonlight. Unfortunately his body betrays him. 

It’s not like it took much. Traitor.

His mind is wandering between concern for Saeran and a teenage lust that he finally got to give his first kiss away to someone so attractive. Even though he’s kept his hands above his waist, washing his hair with no soap, he can feel himself starting to get hard. He desperately tries to will it away.

Who the hell gets hard over a kiss?

He turns his head a little to look at the door frame out the corner of his eye, before slowly trailing his hand down his body. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't do this. But when is he going to get more time alone? He grips himself lightly and feels his body shudder in response. He hasn't done this in a while.

Yoosung closes his eyes and presses his free hand against the wall, letting the shower water wash over him. His mind wanders back to the feeling of Saeran's lips on his, and the way Saeran’s fingers explored his skin so gently. Does Saeran know what he’s orchestrating when he touches Yoosung so reverently?

Yoosung tightens his grip on his now entirely hard dick. His breath quickens at the excitement and risk of doing this while Saeran could walk in at any moment, of having virtually no privacy in this house.

He slowly starts moving his hand up and down, biting his lip so he doesn't make any noises. He's not usually very good at keeping quiet since he’s moved out on his own. This has a totally different thrill than not getting caught at his parents house, though. 

Yoosung fantasizes about what would happen if he were to get caught. Would Saeran join him? Would they both be in the shower together? Would Saeran want to touch him? Does Yoosung want to let Saeran touch him? Would Saeran chide him with harsh words while deft fingers worked him over? Would he ignore all of Yoosung’s protests? Would Yoosung protest? 

Would… would he call Yoosung a good boy, again?

God. 

Yoosung's hand gradually gets a little faster, and he lets out a quiet whimper before biting his lip harder. He can't be loud. He can't be heard.

He thinks about Saeran's hands and his lips, and it's not long before Yoosung's imagining Saeran's hand in place of his own. This is wrong. It's so wrong, and he knows it, yet he can't stop. He leans a little more heavily against the wall and starts panting.

Yoosung can feel himself starting to get close already, which is good, because he doesn't want this to last longer than it needs to. He already knows he’s going to be ashamed of himself once this is done; like when he has to close out porn tabs before he gets appalled by what he’s watching.

"Mmf." He lets out a muffled moan and starts pumping faster, imagining how Saeran's chest would feel pressed up against his back as he moved his hand like this, what kind of taunts and praises he would whisper in his ear, how he would restrain him…

"S-S... uh..." Yoosung murmurs quietly. 

He remembers how Saeran kissed him, deep, passionate kisses and quick, small kisses across his lips. He remembers how Saeran tugged him into his lap and dug his nails into his skin as if he was trying to claw his way past the boundaries of their bodies, like he wanted more from Yoosung than anyone had ever wanted in their life, and Yoosung wanted to give it… he wanted to give it all to someone who wanted him like that. 

And there it is.

He presses his lips together to stifle the way he would undoubtedly cry out as his entire body jerks and he cums hard into his hand, the evidence washing away with the steady stream of the shower. His mouth falls open breathlessly and he squeezes his dick tighter.

"U-uh... Saeran," he moans as quietly as he can as cum dribbles out of the tip of his dick.

"Good boy, Yoosung," Saeran says, a delightfully mischievous sparkle in his eyes and laced into his words.

Did he imagine it? Was that... was that just another one of his thoughts that just happened to sound more real than the rest? He can't tell, and he's too scared to turn around. He can feel his heart beating uncomfortably in his throat.

White hot fear spears through Yoosung. It’s worse than being caught by his mom. This is like being caught by your crush. Actually, no, it’s exactly that, and his crush probably heard him speak, and oh god..

"Saeran?" he whispers, unable to move.

"I'm here, cutie," Saeran responds, voice weak but much more confident than before. "What were you thinking about?"

Is Saeran teasing him? Was it not obvious? Yoosung feels his head spin and his stomach flip. Even though he’s only eaten bread, the food feels leaden. All the blood is his body feels like it’s burning. Slowly, he opens his eyes and turns around.

Saeran's there. He's just... sitting there watching him. Yoosung squeaks and desperately tries to cover himself. 

"W-what are you doing?!" His voice is high pitched and borderline hysterical. No way did Saeran watch that. No way, no way, no way. How did Yoosung not hear him come in?

"Well, I came in to use the toilet and find my clothes," Saeran explains. Now that he mentions it, Saeran isn’t even naked anymore. He’s fully clothed. Yoosung is resolutely aware of his own vulnerability, his own embarrassment and shame, and it’s burning even more powerfully than before. Saeran watches Yoosung’s face, smirks smugly, and adds: "I guess you didn't hear me."

"Y-you watched?!" he squeaks.

"Yeah.” No blush, no hesitation, no real thought involved, it seems; Saeran just speaks and tilts his head like he doesn’t understand why Yoosung would ever think otherwise. Of course he would watch, Yoosung thinks humorlessly; of course, of course, of course Saeran would watch him jack off. 

"W-wh... I... h-how much did you see?!" Be confident, Yoosung. Don’t make this situation worse. His heart won’t stop pounding erratically.  He almost feels like those tiny dogs he saw at the clinic he volunteered at, all wet and scared and quivering from anxiety.

"Enough,” Saeran responds cryptically, to Yoosung’s great dismay.  

Yoosung takes the opportunity to shut the water off and shove the shower curtain aside. It’s not like a clear shower curtain helped cover him anyway. Saeran saw everything; he heard everything. Yoosung can barely even process it, but all he knows is that he can't even hear himself think over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Y-you... I c-can't believe that you..." he stammers. He wants to get a towel, but Saeran's in the way, so he can't. He quickly grabs a shirt from the floor and holds it in front of his crotch.

Then Saeran’s back on his feet, leveraging the door frame for support and disappearing down the hallway. It’s perplexing that Saeran barely taunted him, and made no effort to touch him. Perplexing but also welcome. 

Yoosung wasn’t sure how long he could bear the weight of that gaze; the I-know-what-you-did-because-I-fucking-watched-you look. At least it wasn’t disgust, right? Saeran called him disgusting earlier, but then he watched Yoosung do… do that, and didn’t look disgusted. He looked more amused than anything, proud, haughty maybe? Like, he likes that Yoosung thought about him when he...?

When Saeran pops his head back in, Yoosung jumps, heart kick started like a car’s battery.

"We need to buy food," Saeran says gravely, eyes hardened. Where did that playful smirk go? Yoosung tightens his hold on the towel wrapped around his waist, like he expects Saeran to suddenly yank it. 

"I... y-yeah, okay..." Yoosung stammers, flustered from the sudden change in conversation. He barely even processes the words. Is Saeran serious? "I... um... what should I wear?"

"You ruined my suit. I picked it out for you.” Saeran’s responses are terse, and a quick glance shows that he has his arms crossed. Is he upset? Yoosung looks back down at the sink and catches sight of his arm, littered with bruises and wounds from the forced injections. 

"I should wear a jacket?" If they're going to be out in public, it's definitely not a good idea for all the bruises on his arms to be on show. There isn't much they can do about his neck, and Yoosung has no idea what Saeran will say if he suggests removing the collar. 

"The suit jacket is in the closet." 

"Okay. Okay... yeah... um... yeah," Yoosung stammers, shaking his head to try and pull his thoughts together. "What about…” Yoosung gulps. He must be stupid. It must be lack of food, or the sudden desire to not live very long. It can’t be avoided forever, though. They have to do something about it if they don’t want to get caught in public. He can phrase it like that right? A way Saeran won’t get mad? A way it won’t seem like he’s disobeying? “What about this?” he asks, pulling at the collar a little.

The entire mood shifts when Yoosung says that. Saeran’s eyes, hardened, emotionless, look ignited with some type of anger. It isn’t the same as when he’s unhinged though. He tilts his head down, his lips purse into a thin line and his expression makes it look as if he’s battling different perspectives in his head. 

Either way, he doesn’t look pleased... but he hasn’t lashed out, so Yoosung seizes the opportunity and presses forward. 

"Sh-should I... take it off now?"

The way Saeran lifts his hands reminds Yoosung of the first time they officially met. While he had been drugged to oblivion, staring at the darkened silhouette of a figure in front of several computer screens, the staccato rhythm of a keyboard in use filling the room. Saeran’s hands remind Yoosung of the way Saeran cooed to him when he wrapped his hands around his neck and restricted until Yoosung had no choice but to close his eyes.

Yoosung squeezes his eyes shut, remembering the uncomfortable feeling of his windpipe being restricted, of his pulse thumping against his captor’s hand like it was trying to shake him off when his own hands failed him.  

_ Click. _

Then relief as Yoosung sucks in his first unencumbered breath of air. His eyes spring open and he stares at the collar in Saeran’s hands like it’s an apparition waiting to disappear; as if he’s waiting for Saeran to pull out a cliche ’90s catchphrase from prank T.V. shows made for kids: “Psych!” 

Yet, that doesn’t happen. Yoosung runs his thumb along his neck and jawline. Just skin. No leather. His throat isn’t soft; the skin feels soaked from where water wedged under the collar, and it’s littered with small cuts and clotted scabs. He winces when he accidentally tugs peeled bits of skin still attached. 

He almost wants to thank Saeran, but the words choke him as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air. He’s on the verge of crying out of sheer relief. Saeran sets the collar down on the sink counter, wordlessly, unceremoniously, and leaves Yoosung to stare at it, scrubbing his eyes dry.

Saeran had apparently gathered a few other items when Yoosung was in the shower. Next to the collar sits the pocket knife, retrieved from the pile of clothes, maybe, and… paper? What is this? Where did Saeran get this?

It’s crumpled, like someone squished it - no, like Saeran squished it. Why would he do that? Yoosung attempts to smooth the picture. This is the one of him, Rika, and Sally. It was in his wallet. So, how did it get here? More importantly, why is it ruined?

Seeing this photo of Rika ruined makes him feel as just as hollow on the inside, like his emotions, memories, precious moments are simply being scooped out of him and he’s left filling the hole with tears and laments. It makes him long for his home and his bed. It makes him wish he could travel to where she is so he can get advice. She’d know what to do in a situation like this. She’d be able to save herself instead of wasting her time crying like Yoosung is.

She wouldn’t kiss her captor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, aaah! Everything has been getting kind of crazy and writing two multichapter fics at once is hard. Everyone, please check out my slowburn yooseven, [#heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11739111/chapters/26453457)! It's a different tone than this but focuses on our beloved boy Yoosung falling in love with another choi twin>< cuz he is good with both of them hehe
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some light heartedness between our boys <3

Saeran had grabbed the wrong shirt when he got dressed. They’re both his shirts, technically, and they look the exact same, but this one smells too much like Saeran. Yoosung despises that he likes the smell. It would be better if he could just wear his own shirt, so he didn’t have to remember how disgusting he is for seeking comfort whenever Saeran felt kind enough to give it.

Yoosung covers the shirt up with the suit jacket from the bedroom closet, buttoning it as high as he can. It doesn’t completely cover his neck, but it should cover up Saeran’s smell. The jacket is disheveled, his neck is a mess, and he slipped his hair clips back in his hair, but with no mirror he has no idea if he looks presentable.

Saeran manages to somehow look the same as he always does; signature outfit, messy white curls, and a scowl on his face. He’s managed to clothe himself and look presentable when this morning he couldn’t even get into the house on his own. Why is he so hard to manage? Are these bursts of energy normal for someone like him?

Everything about him is unpredictable.

The energy seems to fail Saeran as he walks to the car, the longest distance he’s walked in several days that isn’t directly adjacent to a wall or tree for support. He ends up using Yoosung instead, looking angry and ungrateful the entire time. Yoosung guides him to the passenger side and that causes a whole new argument between them, ending in shouts and slammed car doors as Saeran climbs into the passenger’s seat.

As Yoosung fixes his hair in the mirror, Saeran reminds him of when they first arrived here; of the incident with the needle jabbed too far into Yoosung’s arm, of the way he was so proud of his pet for mutilating himself. Yoosung tries to ignore it.

Eventually Saeran stops antagonizing him and concedes with giving directions. There’s nothing stopping Yoosung from disobeying them except for the faint, inaudible promise at the end of each of his captor’s sentences that seem to suggest he wouldn’t like the consequences.

Even if he did disobey, this car is practically running on empty. They wouldn’t be able to get back into town on this, and… Yoosung steals a glance at Saeran as he looks out the window, body slumped and chin resting on his forearm, green eyes devoid of their intent to kill when he’s looking at the clouds.

Yoosung wants to see more of this person.

The road signs give him no hints about where they are. He’s never been this far out in the country, and he’s always taken the train home.  

"You said left, yeah?"

"Hm? Oh, right. Yeah... left.” Saeran’s voice sounds soft, distant.

Once they’re on the highway, the road is less bumpy. Yoosung’s almost lost to the monotony of driving when he notices a pressure on his upper thigh; a hand. Yoosung cautiously looks over, unsure which Saeran will be there to greet him, but it’s not the scary version; it’s just him, calm, shaking a little with the vibrations of the car. His palm is warm through Yoosung’s pants, but he isn’t squeezing his thighs, or sliding a hand between his legs like Yoosung was afraid of.

Does Saeran just want to touch him?

***

Yoosung’s filling up the tank. Saeran didn’t advise him how much to fill it, so he’s guessing based on the money he had in his wallet. By estimate, they could likely fill the tank to just under half full, then have enough leftover for some staple food supplies: flour, eggs, butter, vegetables (if a convenience store even had any,) frozen fruit, or… even vitamins; honestly, anything.

He’s desperate to fight away this perpetual fatigue floating around him like an unwelcome phantom. Yoosung glances over through the car windows to Saeran, sitting hunched over in the passenger seat while he stares over at something Yoosung can’t see. They make tentative eye contact through the car’s rearview mirror and Saeran sneers at him before Yoosung averts his gaze.

He wants to ask Saeran what they'll do when they run out of money, but... he's scared to ask. He has no idea what will end up happening to them. Will Saeran send him to the Saviour, whoever she is? Or... would he be willing to come home with Yoosung? The RFA would help, right?

Yoosung can just imagine waltzing in with their terrorizer, hands clasped together while he declares their relationship to each other… whatever that is. Even in his imagination, the disappointed looks in their eyes makes him want to hide. Maybe it’ll be easier to flee to paradise so they don’t have to see how far he’s fallen.

***

"Do you still need help walking?"

He’s back in the driver’s seat of the car, staring down his sour faced companion. Saeran’s frustratingly good at keeping quiet, especially when Yoosung wants a response out of him. Stubborn and tired enough, Yoosung decides to join in this mockery of a tableau and settles his hands on the steering wheel, molding his back to the seat.

Enough time passes that he’s sure Saeran’s going to give up on this whole adventure, so his hands wander to the ignition. The thought briefly passes his mind that he hasn’t paid, yet; however, what’s one criminal event compared to the life he’s conceded to living now, anyway? What does it matter if he’s destined to disappear like Saeran says…

Chilled hands encircle his wrist and stop him from turning the engine over.

“Cover your neck," Saeran demands. It’s unrealistic, considering they’re out in broad daylight, open for anyone to see. If he could have covered it, he would have at that house, but there was nothing that went that high up. He did the best he could with the suit jacket. Couldn’t Saeran tell?

“How?” Yoosung asks, voice a pitiful whine that borders on begging.

Saeran unfastens the choker around his neck. He leans over the middle console between them and clasps it around Yoosung’s throat. There’s a heart stopping, bone-chilling moment where Yoosung’s mind tells him: this is it, he’s going to strangle you for everyone to see. But the chill subsides as the moment passes, and all that’s left is the warmth of the choker on his neck, radiating body heat absorbed from Saeran.

The collar was cold and rigid, digging into his neck when he moves, but the choker is warm and soft, likely from the close proximity of Saeran’s body. It doesn’t restrict his breath like the other, and it’s almost oddly comforting, like Saeran’s taken a piece of himself and given it to Yoosung. Unlike his clothing, which doesn’t appear to have much significance to Saeran, this choker feels more intimate, like his kisses. It’s something Saeran’s shared only with him.

Or so Yoosung dares to hope.

Without the choker on, Saeran’s neck looks pale and exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. While his body is littered with marks, his neck is oddly pristine, like whomever it was who touched him didn’t want to damage that particular area.

“C-can you still see the...?” Yoosung whispers.

“Not as much.”

They open the door to the convenience store and the small bell jingles to announce their arrival. The cashier barely looks up from his cellphone in response. There are nicer convenience stores by the university, Yoosung thinks. There isn’t even a slushie machine, and the floors look like they haven’t been mopped in days.

He feels simultaneously overdressed and underdressed in leather pants and a suit jacket. Hopefully no one notices. Without thinking, he touches the choker around his neck.

Frozen vegetables, frozen fruits... nothing fresh, of course, because it’s a shitty convenience store on the highway. It doesn’t matter, anyway. This will give them both a chance to eat healthier. Yoosung tries not to think of what will happen a week from now, a month from now, because he’d just be grasping at glaring nothingness. He has no idea, and it appears as if Saeran doesn’t, either. They’re taking it by the day; something Yoosung has been doing consistently since he entered university.

The old him would be panicking more than this at the thought of uncertainty. Now watching Saeran choose out items in a convenience store like he’s never truly stopped and seen the diversity of products available, it seems worth it, especially when he makes comments like…

“Floral or coconut?” Saeran’s holding two scented soaps in his hand. “Or pomegranate? Or… strawberry? Why are there so many types?”

"I dunno. Why not? Just... pick whichever one you like." Honestly, Yoosung doesn't care. He'll just be happy to have soap. Saeran looks over at him, catches the way he’s been playing with the straps of the choker since he entered the convenience store. He doesn’t say anything even though they both saw it. It’s as if he doesn’t care. Without a choker on, Saeran looks naked, despite being fully clothed. The yellow lights above make his complexion look waxen. His skin looks weirdly pristine, like each scratch and burn mark on his hands or arms were molded by a sculptor.

Untouchable, permanently marked. Is that who Saeran is?

"Why... why did you avoid my face?" Yoosung blurts.

“Huh?”

“I thought you… I don’t know, your neck is all clean, so I thought… mine isn’t anymore, and I figured you h-had a reason for it?”

“Oh.”

“So, why?”

“Why is my neck clean?”

“N-no, why didn’t you… y’know… my face?” Yoosung says softly. Despite the convenience store being practically deserted aside from people coming in to pay for gas and buy a pack of cigarettes, he doesn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. Like it was personal between them. A sinful secret instead of a hostage situation.

"B-because I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Saeran didn’t want to talk about scars or Yoosung’s wounds any more after that. Yoosung tried to pry for more information in the form of innocuous questions, but Saeran’s smart; he caught on each time and redirected the conversation or outright ignored him. It felt like he was talking to Seven about his job. Are all hackers this good at deflecting?

“Did you want anything else?” Yoosung asks.

Saeran’s eyes linger too long on the candy section before he looks away, clearly stricken by indecisiveness and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

“No," Saeran says.

They do one final exploration of the aisles, like they’re both holding onto this fleeting moment of normalcy. Once they leave here, who knows when they will emerge next? Once they leave here, maybe every trace of Yoosung Kim that ever existed will disappear forever.

That thought hangs over Yoosung’s head as they walk down the small convenience store aisles together. There isn’t enough room between them to walk side by side, so Saeran’s holding onto Yoosung’s arm while the other holds the plastic bag they’ve decided to use in lieu of a basket.

The grip isn’t uncomfortable. Much like in the vehicle, Saeran’s simply holding onto him. Yoosung just wishes he could understand why. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them when they pause awkwardly in front of the sparse collection of condoms. Yoosung’s never had to buy these before, obviously, but he did ask Zen to buy him lube once. He remembers how much he was teased afterwards.

One quick glance at Saeran’s serious face and he figures this experience won’t be like that time. There’s no way Saeran would make fun of him based on all his promises and threats.

Well, it’d be naive to think it wouldn’t happen sooner or later, so… perhaps it’s just rationalizing, but Yoosung wants to think he has some semblance of choice as he grabs a box of condoms from the shelf and wiggles it into the bag Saeran’s holding. Wordlessly, Saeran deposits a bottle of lube in, as well.

They exchange a look tense with expectations and ideas. Yoosung’s ashamed that his face burns hot just from that exchange.

Did he just agree to something?

***

"You don't like wearing my clothes?"

"Oh... no, I do. Just... we should probably have some more, since the others are ruined," Yoosung says.

“Do they even sell clothes here?”

"I don't know. Probably not. Oh, there are some shirts over there. Did you want to take a look?"

"Sure.”

All of the clothing here comes pre-packaged in clear plastic; much like all the food. They card through the shirts quietly, crinkles their only accompaniment. All the shirts have slogans; some of them are comical, others are serious, and some border the line in a completely inappropriate way. All Yoosung wants from this is to find another set of clothes to wear so he and Saeran don’t look identical, but he doesn’t want Seven to find him in a shirt that reads “world’s best grandma.”

"Hey, this one would suit you," Yoosung teases, holding up a shirt with a poorly drawn unicorn. The unicorn stands out against a black background; an ode to a pastel goth. With the way Saeran dresses, he’d fit in with the crowd of people at SKY University that Yoosung admires but is too afraid to approach.

"I actually have style, and this looks fucking awful."

Saeran’s response surprises Yoosung. It’s one of the most human things he’s heard come from his mouth; amidst the taunts, the torment, the harsh words and the desperate cries, there’s a person. Yoosung just needs to dig, and right now, he’s struck gold. He can’t help but giggle at the ludicrousness of it all.

"I know, I know, I'm kidding. Would be funny though."

"Oh, you were joking,” Saeran deadpans, head tilting as he mulls it over. Then, with that same curious expression on his face, he pulls a shirt with a golden retriever printed on it in cheap plastic with the words ‘good boy’ written in Calibri typeface. Not the most stunning piece of graphic design. Yoosung almost cringes.

"This one would suit you."

Before Yoosung can even respond, it’s shoved into his arms and Saeran’s walking away.

"We're buying that. You wanted a new shirt, right?"

"Saeran! W-we can't buy this!"

They do purchase that shirt, along with a strawberry flavoured lollipop for Saeran.

Back in the car, Yoosung ventures to have a conversation with Saeran.

"Are you... feeling better now?"

"More or less," Saeran says with a shrug, slipping the lollipop into his mouth. He lets his jaw hang as he moves the candy around, pausing to close his lips and suck. Yoosung’s ashamed at how much that simple motion garners his attention. Saeran lifts a hand and, for a moment, Yoosung’s worried that he’s noticed and is going to reprimand him, but instead, Saeran stares at the back of his palm.

"Not shaking anymore. I don't know if I'll stay this way, though. I used to take a... dose daily."

"Well... maybe now that we have food and stuff, that'll help. I'll... I'll try and help as much as I can." Then he suddenly remembers something. "Shit. I forgot to buy medicine,” he says hastily as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Saeran moves then, halting Yoosung as the seat belt reels itself in of its own volition.

"I don't think this is something fixable with medicine. Plus, there are already pills in the medical kit.”

And they’ve spent all their money. Saeran probably knows that as much as Yoosung does.

"Yeah... okay, yeah. I just want to help. Hopefully... you'll be okay once your body recovers."

Yoosung has no idea how long that will be. Saeran said he's been taking it daily, and it's been years. It's definitely not going to be good for him to suddenly not have it at all.

"I'll be fine. I got a message through to the Saviour earlier. She’ll come save us.”


	4. Chapter 4

Yoosung keeps an eye out for the turn, slowing down a little so he doesn't miss it. He's not sure how he feels about Saeran potentially getting more of that drug. It seems to be the thing that makes him angry, in the same way it makes Yoosung feel hollow. He doesn't want that again. He really doesn't want that again.

He hopes the Saviour doesn't respond to whatever message Saeran got through.

He turns down the dirt road, car groaning and creaking in protest. This is definitely not a good car. Yoosung’s only ever driven his dad’s SUV, and it’s much smoother than this. Honestly, he’s worried the thing might break down after every rocking bump on this shitty road.

Is now a good time to ask more about the Saviour and Paradise? Yoosung isn't sure. Saeran’s mood has been all over the place today, going from joking around with him, to scowling at him, to… If Yoosung was being honest, Saeran is a complete mystery. The only relatable thing about him is when he cries and begs Yoosung not to abandon him.

The injections probably make his moods worse. It’s been slightly under twenty four hours since he smashed the last injection. Besides looking weak and small, Saeran doesn’t look like he’s withdrawing too much. How long until withdrawal sets in? What should Yoosung expect? Can he... can he die? Can people die of drug withdrawal? Is Yoosung just being overly paranoid assuming that’s going to happen? Maybe it isn’t addictive.

Okay, no; that’s stupid, considering how Saeran acts when it comes to the drug. He acts like it’s more important than food. How much longer can Saeran can go without having to go to the hospital or a detox centre?

He keeps telling Yoosung he has no idea what was swirling within those vials, but there’s no way it was good.

Lost in thought, Yoosung doesn’t clue back into reality until he hears a metallic click, and feels cold steel against his temple.

"Yoosung, why aren't you abandoning me?" Saeran’s voice is a low growl, gravelly. It almost feels like he’s speaking from the barrel of the gun. Yoosung’s blood runs cold, and he resists the urge to slam on the brakes; instead, he pulls his foot off the gas and lets the car slow to a crawl.  

Where did this question come from?

"I've told..." Yoosung trails off as his voice fails him and cracks like a teenager.

Saeran smacks his mouth, the lollipop plastic crinkling aggressively as he removes it with his teeth. He spews the plastic out of his mouth with a ‘puh’ sound and it flies somewhere in the car. Yoosung can barely focus with the way his vision is buzzing.

"I was looking for this, remember?" Saeran says slowly, wiggling the gun against Yoosung’s skin.

"Saeran..." Yoosung says uncertainly. Nerves and panic are shooting through him, especially as the car is bumping and Yoosung can't tell if the gun’s safety is on or off. "Don't... don't use it."

"What could you do to stop me? What if I told you to keep driving? What if I forced you to crash into another car?"

It’s almost a moot question, since this road is deserted. Yoosung chooses not to bring it up. It’s not like he could when his lungs aren’t cooperating, when each breath is laboured.

"I wouldn't do it," he whispers.

"What if I made you do things, and in exchange, didn't kill you?" The gun wobbles. Saeran’s voice sounds deadened. It’s a stark comparison. Yoosung wants to believe it’s because Saeran cares, that he wants to be proved wrong.

Honestly, it’s hard to think about Saeran’s feeling with the words ‘I don’t want to die’ playing on repeat in his mind.

"You... wouldn't kill me," Yoosung says slowly. The way the gun's wobbling in his hand is terrifying enough as it is. "Saeran, please... put it down."

"Then what?" Saeran challenges. It’s clear he’s in defense mode. He’s answering without breathing and likely without thinking. Yoosung doesn’t know what to do. If he takes too long to respond, will it be too late?

"Saeran, please," Yoosung whispers. His hands are starting to shake, and he grips the wheel more tightly. Why is he suddenly acting like this? Is it the sight of the gun that triggered it?

The worst thing is that Saeran doesn’t even sound angry. He sounds hollow. His words are empty. It’s terrifying.

"It's not the drugs that make me like this, Yoosung," Saeran says. The lollipop clacks against his teeth as he speaks. "Want to taste?"

Does he mean the bullet or the lollipop? Saeran's confusing him, and Yoosung doesn't know what to do. He swears this dirt road is longer than he remembers. Since he hasn’t immediately been blown to bits, Yoosung decides to push on the gas a little more. Quicker. Get them to their destination ASAP.

"I... uh... it's okay."

"Too scared to after we swapped saliva?"

“N-no, that’s not...” but Yoosung can’t finish that sentence because Saeran’s shoved the lollipop forcibly into his mouth. He’s surprised, but he shouldn’t be. He tries to swallow his urge to cough, and it doesn’t work. He starts coughing, body vibrating with anxiety and spit dripping down from the corner of his mouth.

Yoosung can’t speak between trying to drive and trying not to choke, so Saeran fills the silence.

"You know it isn't the drugs that make me like this," Saeran repeats himself. Yoosung would have preferred the quiet. "I'm like this because I'm fucked up, Yoosung." He emphasizes the word ‘fucked’ with another wobbly shake of the gun.

"You... you're not," he tries to say, words muffled and distorted by the lollipop. "You've just had... f-fucked up things happen to you."

"I don't know what you want from me." Saeran sounds exasperated and he's getting more breathless by the minute. It sounds like he’s about to have a panic attack. Even though he’s managed to warm the gun with his body heat, it’s not any more reassuring. The only reassurance is that Saeran hasn’t pulled the trigger... yet. From this angle, Yoosung can’t even see if Saeran’s holding it with that intention. Or if he’s just trying to intimidate him.

"I don't want anything from you," Yoosung manages again, shoving the lollipop between his cheek and teeth. His words are punctuated by the slurp of saliva, to try to stop it from continuing to drip out of his mouth. He’s surprised his voice sounds steady with how afraid he is.  
"You want something from me," Saeran insists. "I know you do. I could taste it on you last night."  
Taste…? Does he mean… Oh no. Why did Yoosung have to tell him he liked him?

"Oh.”  
"Remember when you said you think I'd change if someone loved me? That I'd stop hurting people.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Yeah.”

“Stop fucking pretending. You can’t fix me."  
"Pretending?" Yoosung says, accidentally letting some of the hurt leak into his voice. "You... you think I'm just pretending to like you?"  
"Obviously," Saeran sneers, and jams the gun a little, enough for it to feel uncomfortable.  
"I'm not," Yoosung says, ignoring the lump in his throat and keeping his eyes glued to the road. Between sentences, Saeran reaches over and yanks the lollipop from Yoosung’s mouth. Yoosung doesn’t know where he puts it after that, but it doesn’t seem like he puts it back in his mouth. "Do you... do you really think I'd have done everything I've done if I were just pretending?" Mouth finally free, Yoosung tries to reason with Saeran.  
"If you were trying to stay alive, you would.”  
“What... what about the shower?" he whispers.  
"What about it? I don't know what you were thinking about.”

Huh? Of course he does. He saw Yoosung. He watched him! Saeran had that stupid grin on his face, too. There’s no way he forgot. But does Yoosung really need to use that as his argument? Embarrassment or not, he has his life to think about.  
"You know what I was thinking about," he mumbles. "You... you heard it."  
"Yoosung, don't you fucking get it? The drugs don't make me like this. I am like this. The drugs just make me dead enough inside to... to..." Saeran trails off, like he’s suddenly lost the words.  
"What about when you're not? What about when you're gentle? When you kissed me? When you touched my skin?” This is pushing it too far, isn’t it? “When you asked me to sing to you? Was that all a lie?" It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Yoosung's getting worked up, and he knows he shouldn't be, but he can't help it.  
"Shut up!”  
"I care about you, Saeran." The house comes into view. Yoosung turns the wheel slightly, moseying the car into the bumpy, gravelly excuse for a driveway. "Believe me or don’t, but you can’t change that.”  
"I wish I had killed you when you ruined my plans," Saeran says absently. Yoosung notices Saeran’s arms seems to lower, like he’s watching their slow return to the house again.

Here.

Again.  
Saeran sucks in a deep breath.  
"The drugs make me dead enough inside so I don't have to deal with pieces of shit like you!"

It almost sounds like a teenager having a tantrum at their parents for something they deem to be wildly unfair. Except in this case, what Saeran thinks is unfair is the way Yoosung’s treating him. Decently, Yoosung thinks. He’s being treated decently and he’s reacting so badly.  
Yoosung kills the engine and lets his hands drop into his lap limply. Saeran frantically fiddles with the car door, yanking it open as the archaic thing gets stuck. It doesn’t help that he’s spooked, frightened by either himself or Yoosung. Yoosung can’t tell which.  
Saeran doesn’t even shut the door as he goes. He just jumps out of the car and stumbles into the clearing.  
Yoosung watches Saeran go, and his heart doesn't just ache. No, it burns, liquified into acid in his chest. He wants to help so desperately it's actually starting to physically hurt him inside. He leans forwards and resists the urge to press his forehead against the wheel.

Every instinct is screaming at him to follow Saeran, but he’s still mortified, vibrating like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap. Even though the threat of death was always looming over him, even though it was stated multiple times… this was too, too close. Saeran’s fired that gun before, at first, when he was trying to intimidate Yoosung.

There was no reason for Yoosung to believe that gun wasn’t loaded, that it still didn’t have bullets in it.  
The tears start falling and his body starts shaking. He hates himself. He hates this situation he’s in.  
Yoosung hates that he has no idea what Saeran is going to do with that gun. He hates that he doesn’t have the bravery to rip it from his hands, like a hero would. Like the protagonist of some great story would. Instead, he sits there, hands and shoulders shaking.  
It takes Yoosung a little while, but eventually he forces himself out of the car and to his feet.

"Saeran," he whispers. He hasn't heard a gunshot yet. He’s barely seen movement since Saeran slumped over on the grass underneath a tree. Maybe it's not too late. He stumbles towards the clearing.  
Saeran’s got the gun in his lap, pointed up towards his face. He’s staring down the chamber like it’s got the answers he’s seeking. The expression chills Yoosung’s heart.  
"Saeran." He means to whisper it quietly so he doesn't make him jump, but it comes out as a choked sob.

Saeran is shaking, too. It’s almost reassuring. They’re scared together. They’re in this together. Neither one of them is the predator. They’re both the deer.  
Saeran fiddles with the safety of the gun. So it had been on... Everything in the car was all bravado. Yoosung slips his hands into Saeran’s lap, interlock in his fingers holding the gun upright. It slumps to the side as Saeran’s fingers loosen, clearly preferring Yoosung’s hand to the cold kiss of a weapon.  
Saeran clenches his teeth. His Adam’s apple bobs with struggle and his mouth smacks as he opens it.  
"This is why I need the drugs," he struggles to say.

Saeran wanted to leave. Saeran wanted to use the gun, right? That’s why he was staring at it. He was going to use the gun and leave Yoosung here. Alone. Abandoned. In some trash house with no cell phone, a password protected laptop, a car running on empty, and almost zero food. Saeran was content to leave Yoosung alone in this… this hellhole where he had to somehow find his way back, and pretend he wasn’t a victim.

A kidnapping victim.

Right. That’s what he was... no, is.

"Yoosung, please stop crying."  
And then Saeran’s hands are on his face, holding him instead of the other way around.  
"S-sorry," Saeran coos softly, sounding more like a purring kitten than a person. The gun slips off his knee and softly thuds onto the grass in front of them. Yoosung slumps onto Saeran’s shoulder, his heartbeat existing all over his body, like he’s recovering from a painful event.

His fingertips pulse, his ears pulse, his lungs pulse. He wants to hear Saeran’s heartbeat. Hesitantly, Yoosung leans lower, pressing his ear awkwardly against Saeran’s chest.  
Yoosung always wants to hear this sound.  
"Can you do me a favour?" Saeran asks, voice projecting more to the clearing of trees than to Yoosung.

"What?"  
"Get rid of this."

Neither of them need to point to know what Saeran’s talking about: the weapon.  
"Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been getting busy. Lemme know if you want me to continue this series?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you guys for your overwhelming support and comments encouraging me to continue. It really helps. :)  
> To reward you for being such good lambs, here's some porn.

There’s a thick pause as Yoosung swallows. He cautiously reaches over Saeran’s lap to where the gun has slipped into the grass. When Yoosung grabs it, his breath hitches and he awkwardly climbs to his feet. There’s a moment where Yoosung is just standing there, back turned to Saeran, gun weighing heavy in his hands that Saeran thinks Yoosung is considering using it; considering ending this charade of their lives and…

That moment passes as Yoosung starts walking forward into the forest. There’s no way he knows how to take it apart, no way he knows how to remove the magazine and the slide, disassemble the barrel and render the entire device useless. Saeran hates gun maintenance, hates that he knows how to clean the glock. He hates guns.

But hating something never stopped him from using it. He lets his palms hold his head up, his back curved into an uncomfortable hump and waits for Yoosung to return, declaring the deed done.

Afterwards, they stumble inside together in an empty silence, shoulders bumping as Yoosung stays in close proximity. Yoosung leads Saeran into the house before murmuring something about checking the car. Panic slices through Saeran as he pulls on Yoosung’s shirt, snapping him back from the doorway.

“N-now you’re…” the words are less threatening than he intended them. Yoosung molds his back to Saeran’s chest and breathes out, almost annoyed as he states he’s just getting their groceries. The paranoid part of Saeran refuses to let go until Yoosung throws the car keys on the floor of the entranceway.

The deafening clatter is the most definitive answer Saeran needs. He lets Yoosung’s shirt go, watching the way the elastic fabric crumpled around his fist, loosely maintaining its shape even when he now that wasn’t holding onto it.

Saeran’s insides burn.

He catches Yoosung shortly after, rummaging through the groceries and putting items away as if this house wasn’t a decrepit piece of shit, as if he respected the domesticity of this arrangement. It’s unsettling. Saeran ghosts around Yoosung, watching him because he can’t focus on anything else, right up until Yoosung shoves a toothbrush in his hands.

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re welcome,” Yoosung responds tiredly, squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush. Saeran follows suit.

Saeran finishes first, spitting red into the sink because he brushed his teeth too harshly. His immediate thought is to storm out of the kitchen, pull a tantrum and declare the entire bed his tonight but... his heart understands before his brain that he doesn’t want to be alone. So, he hovers around Yoosung until he’s finished.

It’s almost like Yoosung isn’t surprised by Saeran anymore when Saeran presses him against the sink. In lieu of his complicated emotions, this nebulous nothingness takes the shape of an ever-familiar anxiety within him. He wants to stifle that feeling, bury down deep or… transmit it to someone else.

Yoosung sets the toothbrush down, wet on the counter and wipes the corners of his mouth. Saeran tangles his fingers into the downy soft hair at the back of Yoosung’s neck, wet with perspiration. Yoosung’s trying valiantly to remain impassive, but his lower lip trembles, soft and pink and vulnerable.

And Saeran - he wants to feel something.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes," Yoosung responds a breath later.

Someone else might have considered the situation; the fact that they’re here, that Saeran might have tried to kill himself less than an hour ago, that Yoosung’s in a compromised position and he probably doesn’t know what Saeran would do if he said no.

But Saeran… no, he doesn’t consider any of that as he uses his hand to tilt Yoosung’s head up, because even though he’s agreed to the kiss, Yoosung’s made no motion to move. There’s little resistance as Saeran slots his their lips together, savouring in the plush, moist feel of Yoosung’s lips.

It’s almost comforting. Yoosung listens to unspoken commands, opens his mouth, licks Saeran’s lips and his teeth. He kisses Saeran like he wants to, like he’s been given a choice. Yoosung settles his arms between them, fingers fisted in the material of Saeran’s shirt as if he isn’t sure whether to push Saeran away or drag him closer.  

Saeran hikes up the corners of Yoosung’s shirt with his free hand, eagar fingers exploring the soft, heated feel of bare skin. Yoosung gasps into the kiss when Saeran's fingers squeeze a handful of tummy, and slide around, down his ass.

There's an idea in his head and a familiar taste on his tongue: lust. Saeran follows the kiss Yoosung leads, and when Saeran slides one thigh between Yoosung’s legs, he swallows a low whine from the back of Yoosung’s throat.

When Saeran breaks the kiss between them, Yoosung’s the one leaning in first, eyes closed. His lips meet Saeran’s cheeks, his jawline. He pecks small kitten kisses over his skin because Yoosung’s inexperienced. It’s something Saeran barely remembers when they kiss but it’s obvious now.

“Remember the shower earlier?” Saeran breathes hotly, tilting his head enough that Yoosung trails the kisses down. When he gets beneath his jaw, Saeran holds him there, hand still nested firmly on the nape of his neck as Yoosung, the fast learner that he is, starts suckling right by his adam’s apple.

It clearly takes Yoosung a moment to process the words, focused on his task as if he’s been mind-controlled. 

"Y-you mean...?" Yoosung leaves the question unfinished and returns to his task, voice meek and unsure even despite his bold actions. Saeran sighs deeply, pleasurably. They definitely both remember the shower earlier.

The way Yoosung fucked into his fist, frantically afraid of discovery. The way Yoosung completely panicked when he opened his eyes to see Saeran watching him. The small part of Saeran that aches to humiliate Yoosung again.

And Saeran - he wants.

He reclaims Yoosung’s mouth, possessively, thigh sliding high enough between Yoosung’s leg’s that he can feel his cock, barely hard at this point. Saeran grinds his thigh against it and savours in Yoosung’s gasps.

"You're so easy," Saeran teases. Yoosung lets his head fall onto Saeran’s shoulder, body trembling as Saeran grinds his thigh up into Yoosung’s balls and swelling dick.

"S-Saeran," he breathes, voice caught in his throat. 

Eventually, Saeran stills his leg, watching as Yoosung waits a few moments before whining. He doesn’t voice any complaints though, just lifts his head and tilts it to the side as if to ask ‘why did you stop?’ Saeran grins in response and shrugs, feeling a mischievous part of his personality encouraging him to wait for Yoosung to figure it out. To his credit, it doesn’t take Yoosung very long at all to start jerking his hips forward.

At first it’s hesitant, eyes glanced shyly wayward as he ruts his hips forward. He bites his lips after the first few times, blush staining his cheeks red as he discards his shame and starts using Saeran’s body as a tool.

Saeran just watches, fascinated before leaning past Yoosung’s mouth and pouted lips (yes, he heard that dejected whine). He bites Yoosung’s earlobe, breathing hotly into his ear.  

He doesn’t speak, not yet; he just breathes and feels the way his erection strains against those borrowed pants, definitely too tight for his little pet. Saeran decides to be merciful, hand sliding away from Yoosung’s ass and towards his front, unbuttoning those pants and tugging them down.

It proves to be a difficult task when Yoosung won’t stop unapologetically humping his thigh, like a little bunny in heat.

When Saeran finally manages to tug the pants down far enough for Yoosung’s dick to spring free, he notices a pause. Yoosung’s stopped moving, staying completely still as he waits in anticipation. He and Saeran lock eyes, purple shining dark and deeply from Yoosung as he tilts his head back. The moment feels tangible, thick between them before Yoosung’s eyes flutter shut. His lashes graze his cheeks.

Saeran frowns, something akin to jealousy bubbling in his stomach.  

"Why did you stop looking at me?" Saeran forces Yoosung’s head straight, demanding respect with a simple growl and Yoosung’s eyes open wide. He looks as fearful as he is turned on. Saeran’s face splits into a big grin, from ear to ear.

“You’re a pillow humper,” Saeran says factually, watching as Yoosung’s eyes widen comically large. He stutters around a denial before a moan escapes his lips as Saeran’s thumb brushes the velvety soft head of Yoosung’s dick. 

“Admit it,” Saeran teases, rubbing his thumb over the weepy slit of Yoosung’s neglected cock. 

Yoosung lets out a low moan, struggles to compose himself as he languidly pushes himself into the fleshy part of Saeran’s palm.

"I j-just... mmf," Yoosung stammers, bucking his hips.

“Tell me.”  

“Puh...p-please.”

“What’s the truth, puppy?”

His eyes are piercing right through Saeran; accusatory, angry, humiliated but still so, so turned on. Saeran isn’t going to budge, despite the way Yoosung whines - throws his head back and grinds on Saeran’s body until Saeran moves his leg and leaves Yoosung, cock exposed to the cold air, to thrust into nothing.

Yoosung whines, a sound bordering on anger. He finally lets go of Saeran’s shirt and hastily grabs his own dick, pumping. The way his nose scrunches up is endearingly adorably but Saeran takes that as an indication that Yoosung is close. Can’t have that.

“No, no, no,” Saeran tuts, pulling Yoosung’s hands away from his dick.

“P-please,” Yoosung cries, lifting up his shirt and displaying himself to Saeran. Saeran’s almost surprised considering how conservative Yoosung usually is. He supposes that once he’s gone far enough, that anything is fair game. Saeran drinks in the sight of Yoosung, blissed out, displaying himself lewdly despite his balls still being stuffed in those tight leather pants.

And Saeran  - fuck, Saeran wants to own him so badly.

Saeran slots his thigh back in between Yoosung’s leg, too low for Yoosung to grind himself down.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Saeran begins, finger tracing a vein up Yoosung’s cock. “Are you a pillow humper?” Yoosung does not answer. “Good boys answer.” Yoosung whimpers, tears forming in the corner of his eyes but he shakes his head. “Good boys answer honestly,” Saeran adds.

And just as Saeran grasps Yoosung’s dick at its base does Yoosung gasp out the word ‘yes’ over and over.

“Oho,” Saeran teases, thoroughly enjoying this. “So, you are a pillow humper?”

“Yes, god,” Yoosung admits, only seemingly half aware of his words. “Yes, I do - I, I, I, I have… It’s not w-weird, it’s… fff.. Why, why?” Yoosung stutters through his thoughts as Saeran lifts his hand, presses his thigh to the underside of his cock and waits. Yoosung seems shocked, unsure what to do as he braces his arms on the countertop behind him.

“Come on,” Saeran says expectantly. Gathering the point, Yoosung shamelessly jerks his hips forward, sliding along the material of Saeran’s leather pants, slicking the surface with pre-come dribbling down his dick.

“Are you - nnng - are ya gonna... “ Yoosung sputters out.

“No,” Saeran responds lazily. “I just want to watch you like this.”

It doesn’t take long for Yoosung to come like this, head thrown back, chest heaving, face flushed. He warns Saeran in some capacity, a small ‘guh’ leaving his mouth as Saeran moves to catch the cum before it gushes right onto his pants.

Saeran reaches behind Yoosung to wash his hands. They pant against each other, chests heaving for entirely different reasons. Yoosung’s spent; his body slumping with exhaustion but Saeran - he feels too awake.

There are emotions settling hard in his throat, like the bottom has been ripped out and his heart is free-falling. Saeran chooses to swallow the emotions and focuses on the way Yoosung’s face nuzzles his cheek as he leans over him, as Yoosung hisses slightly when his oversensitive dick brushes against Saeran’s pants. 

Yoosung deserves to feel good.

"Saeran," Yoosung says weakly.

But Saeran shouldn’t be the one to give it. 

He can feel this pressure in his chest, and it's only exacerbated by his pounding heartbeat. Yoosung feels so warm under his arms like this. 

"I’m going to take care of you, Yoosung," Saeran says lowly, possessively as he flattens the hair at the back of Yoosung’s head, fingers damp from the sink. Yoosung doesn’t say anything, too dazed from the whole experience. Saeran gently tucks Yoosung back into his pants and leads him to the bedroom.

Saeran’s too riled up right now. His body is tight and his dick is hard and he really just wants to shove Yoosung to his knees and fuck his face until he chokes but Yoosung looks so…

Fragile right now. He looks vulnerable and soft and wide-eyed. He looks blissed out and Saeran did just state he was going to take care of Yoosung. So he can’t - no matter how much he wants to - he can’t treat Yoosung like that right now.

Or else it’ll destroy whatever this is and it’s already eggshell thin.

Saeran can’t be the one to give this to Yoosung.

“Thank you,” Yoosung whispers in a calibre so low Saeran isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it. He doesn’t respond because there’s nothing worth thanking him over. If Saeran acknowledges that, it’s like he’s acknowledging that all this - this, this kidnapping was okay.

Saeran’t can’t make Yoosung happy...

Saeran gives Yoosung a pillow and a blanket, lets him curl himself up the way he enjoys and then plops on the mattress beside him. Immediately, Yoosung wiggles towards him, arm slung over his chest.

"I like this," Yoosung whispers.

Saeran can’t but… god, he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I have likely gotten better at porn? :3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [Blackprose](https://blackprose.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [@LikelyRogue](https://twitter.com/LikelyRogue) on Twitter. Hit me up to chat or buy me a [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/blackprose)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please read my other works!


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